


The Kids From Yesterday

by zelda (skinandearth)



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4756514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinandearth/pseuds/zelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place directly after 'Be What Tomorrow Needs'. Read as part of the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kids From Yesterday

Pain. His eyes opened slowly. Wounds still smoking, bleeding red upon the white of the bag, it surrounded him, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t…

 

Pain.

 

The body bag unzipped.

 

He stood slowly, shakily, not quite steady on his feet. His jacket was torn, holes where the lasers went through fabric and flesh, ragged and ripped and ruined. He almost fainted at the sight.

 

Looking around, he realized he was alone, in the sterile white of a BL/ind owned structure. He padded quietly to the door, testing the knob. No give.

 

He checked the window next. It was open, albeit just a crack, but enough for him to shove his hands under and shove it up, groaning as the window budged little by little. He hauled himself up and over the sill, landing with a sharp cry on the ground. Desert.

 

He walked.

 

His feet stung, his skin was raw, his arms throbbed, his back spasmed, but he didn’t stop. He walked. He didn’t stop.

 

When he got to what was left of the Diner, he stopped. Taking it in, remembering his brother, his best friends, his family. _I wasn’t strong enough. I’m so sorry._ He wept, bitter tears for the ones lost, the ones ripped away so soon, the ones who died too young, fighting to the very end.

 

The interior was dusty, unused for months. There was no sign of life, no static flicker, no voices bickering over _Ghoul, come on, I know this food is shit but you have to eat, we’ll go to Tommy’s tomorrow and get something better, just please eat something_ and _Poison, you can’t swear in front of the kid_ from Jet, and he wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, wanted to smile and scream and die all at the same time.

 

He checked the old, dusty radio system. It was May 12, 2020. He had been gone, ghosted, for almost six months. Six months he was gone, dead, dust. Six months since he’d heard his brother’s gentle teasing voice, six months since he had heard Ghoul yell at him for hiding his lucky mug, six months since he had heard Jet yell at Ghoul to _stop calling me Princess Fro Fro you asshole!_

He looked at the transmissions. There were countless ones from Dr. Death, warning the other ‘joys of Drac raids and BL/ind patrols, messages from Show Pony and Tommy and Cherri, even the Girl in one of them.

 

He had enough rations for a few months. He stayed put, boarding up the door and drawing an ‘X’ on the sand in front of it. No one came by.

 

He tidied up the diner, knowing that if Poison were there, he’d kick his ass for not picking up his mess, not making his bed and not sweeping the dust out through the back.

 

He trimmed his hair slightly, dying the top blonde again and leaving the roots almost black, letting it shag over his head like a dog’s fur. He grabbed the radio, flicking it on, pausing to listen to Pony’s voice, hearing another human for the first time in what felt like eternity.

 

Months passed. He wrote. He rehearsed what he would say, he planned it out perfectly. It was July 16, 2020, when his voice was heard once again.

 

He tapped into the Battery City TV transmissions, hacking their system and laying dormant, until it was time. He opened his mouth, letting his voice ring.

 

“Please stand by.”

 

“This is not a test.”

 

“Did you think you defeated the Kobra Kid?” He tried to inject as much sarcasm and venom into his voice as humanly possible.

 

“The stars are aligned for me tonight.” His voice dropped, lower, losing the sharp edge slightly, all traces of mockery gone, just coolness taking over.

 

“Sit and watch me glide through all the lights.” He hoped his voice didn’t shake, that the video worked as well as the audio.

 

“The calm, the darkness that is life.” He took a pause, deep breaths filling his lungs.

 

“The Electric Century begins now.”

  
  



End file.
